Joe Stanley – Page 5 – The Ghostly World

A Heart in the Abyss

by Joe Stanley

For most of my life, I’ve been completely devoted to my career. I jumped right out of school and into a job and my time (on the clock or off) was consumed by my work. That work requires a no-nonsense approach and I consider myself to be rational and sane.

But, I will admit that this commitment hasn’t been the best choice for the people around me or for myself. One day, I realized that in building a life for myself that I had neglected to have much of a life at all. I had no one to share this experience with, no one at my side and not even any real friends. I knew this situation would not change on its own, so I took it upon myself to do something about it and joined a local social club.

The club arranged all sorts of activities for its members, we meandered through museums, forayed among the flowers of ungodly gardens, trod the tricky trails of our precious parks, and so on. Over time, some went and others came, but I had no luck in anything other than light and casual connections. Perhaps I was too picky, but I felt no deeper bonds forming, or even having the chance to form.

It was at a large gathering at the McMeadows house, (really a mansion by any standards), that I began to feel a sense of frustrated futility. There were many people around, but I felt alone, absolutely, utterly alone. I was so low that I made a horrible joke to myself, one about my time being better spent picking out a mausoleum. To this, I did not chuckle, and my thoughts, turning darker still, asked why this was so untrue.

I seemed to float, detached from the merry murmur of voices and clinking of glasses. All seemed so very far away, like a farewell made from the carefree days of my youth. I felt myself sinking down as though weighted with the certainty that my life no longer held promise. I would die, unfulfilled and alone, without so much as the chance to pass life on to another generation. The sum of my experience seemed no more than a dusty, worm-eaten journal, tossed without ceremony into a bonfire.

Then I caught sight of her. She stood on a balcony looking down at the crowds laughing, smiling, dancing… I could see her face, her lovely face that made my heart beat for the first time in my life, but I could also see the sadness, the loneliness, the emptiness which my own my racing heart recognized. In her, I knew, was a kindred spirit.

Before, I had always been shy and passive in dealing with the fairer sex, but here I was driven to act. I brushed rudely passed people, ignoring their calls and flew up the grand, sweeping staircase in pursuit of a woman who had said so much to me without saying anything at all. But by the time I reached her loft, she was long gone. I spent the remainder of the evening searching through the maze-like manoir, becoming something of source of gossip for my many companions. At the last, I took up a position by the door after gaining an assurance from the staff that no guests had yet departed.

I must have been a sight, standing like a sentry, scanning this sea of faces for the one who stole my heart. But chiding and chuckles meant nothing to me next to the fear that my lady had vanished. When the last trickled out, she had not been among them. When I described her to the staff, hoping that she was one of them, some laughed while others stared in disbelief.

Finally, one took pity on me and lead me through the palace to a dim corner of its expanse. Gesturing to the wall, she brought my eyes to a painting, one composed some one hundred sixty years back. There she sat, my immortal angel, having died in childbirth a year or so after that.

Where she came from, where she has gone, I cannot say. But with her has gone my heart, my hope, my everything…

-end-

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March 28, 2019 Add Comment

The Cat and the Circle

by Joe Stanley

At first, there was nothing but an endless gray limbo. I cannot say how much time passed, for time has no meaning there. From this oblivion, I became dimly aware and bore the burden that is its consequence.

There was anger and fear, sadness and pain, so much pain… These impressions were more feeling than true sense, and I was detached from them. They felt like faint memories, but they did not feel like mine. I fled from them, and found that I had body and open eyes.

I was in a bed, in a room I did not recognize. The room was large, impressively so, and lit by several lamps which sat on small tables arrayed along the walls. The light was a soft golden glow, and it soothed me and stilled my mind. It was then I saw that I was not alone.

Sitting high on one of the tables, was a large and fluffy black cat. It paused from its preening to regard me with its wondrous eyes, seemingly made of the same golden light. Its ears laid back, it lept from its perch and vanished from my sight.

I heard footsteps approaching one of the doors, and, when it slowly opened, a woman stepped inside. Her clothes seemed strange to me, like the fashion of a country I could not identify. They were so fine that I took her to be a person of great importance. A hood hid most of her face, leaving nothing but shadows above the tip of her nose. I saw the curve of her jaw, and her lips, which fascinated my eyes. I did not need more than this to know she was beautiful.

“You’re awake!” she whispered, and there was a constrained excitement in her voice. She came to my side and smiled.

“Where am I?” I inquired.

“You don’t remember?” she asked in reply. I could feel the disappointment and sadness in the musical tones of her sweet voice. I was ashamed to know her pain was for me.

“You don’t remember me?”

And again, it was my shame to deny.

“I don’t remember anything. I don’t even know who I am.”

“Nevermind,” she whispered, “It’s enough that you’re awake.”

Her tiny hand took mine, a touch warm and soft, and I was surprised that anything in this world could be so nice. But I pressed on.

“Who am I?” I begged, but she hushed me and offered, “Perhaps your memory will return in time.

“Please,” I implored, “Bring me a mirror. Maybe seeing my own face will help me remember who I am…”

I tried to rise, to sit up, but at this, a terrible pain swelled in my head and shot like lightning through me. She eased me back down and again she hushed me and said, “You must rest.”

“At least tell me the name of the cat…” I joked through the waves of agony.

“Cat?” she asked, but not to me as she scanned the room. When her eyes returned to me there was more than confusion in them, there seemed to be fear, and the same was in her voice when she went on, “We don’t have a cat.“

I was too weak to carry on and she encouraged me to return to sleep. I could not help but comply.

As I drifted away I held her words in my mind.

“We don’t have a cat.” she had said.

I smiled to myself.

“We.”

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March 14, 2019 Add Comment

The Living Vampire

by Joe Stanley

The city of my birth is renown for the prestigious medical university which graces it with ivied walls. I am proud to say that I graduated with honors and took up a coveted internship under one of the city’s finest practitioners. Though I seemed on tract to realize my dreams, that is, building my own practice, I found myself nonetheless quite uncertain and anxious about my prospect.

For in such a city, as one might imagine, there are doctors to be found on every street corner. A fledgling like myself could never hope to command the same appeal as the long-established and well-respected residents. A practice of my own was doomed to be a small one, and in my youthful exuberance, I had designs to save the world, one person at a time.

As my apprenticeship neared its conclusion, this trouble weighed heavily on my mind. I even feared that my mentor would toss me out so woefully unprepared, but in this I did him a great disservice. One evening as I made my final rounds for the night, Dr. Stockman’s door opened and he leaned out into the hall.

“A word.” he said, his voice and face emotionless, making me assume the worst. And when we spoke, it was indeed about the imminent end of our arrangement.
“What are your plans?” he asked, drawing out my fears and the confession that I had no real plan. He chuckled.
“I can understand your plight. And if I may be honest, I would never recommend that this be the place a promising young doctor should start. Here, a doctor has to fight tooth and nail to get a foothold and cling fiercely to every patient.”
The sullen look I wore spoke for me and he continued.
“As it happens, however, I have been contacted by the committee of a small village. It seems they have suddenly been left without a doctor and write to me in search of a recommendation. If the opportunity suits you, I would be glad to send you on your way with a letter of approval.”
I sat flabbergasted, unsure if I was dreaming.
“I hope you understand that I think you’re as skilled as any other in the city, and I do not mean to suggest that you don’t deserve recognition here in the city…”
“No, no.” I exclaimed, “You may tell them I will be happy to start as soon as possible.”

The words were scarcely out of my mouth before I started to doubt them. I would have to leave the city that I loved so dearly, and part with the friends and family I cherished. I wondered if I could tolerate the conditions of a country life, especially in a village as isolated as this one.

But an entire village to look after offered me the solution to my problems and gave me hope of realizing my dreams. A few short weeks later, I enjoyed a bittersweet farewell party and said goodbye to the only life I had ever known.

In the early morning mists of the next day, I boarded a train. The sooty gray skyline that was my world vanished, the cluttered buildings gradually replaced by green and wide-open spaces. The long hours that passed left me alone with my thoughts which dashed back and forth between hope and fear. More than once I was convinced that I would get off at the next station and head home.

But then I thought of the villagers and their need. It simply would not be right to abandon them. I would press on. Stepping off the train, I was met by a coachman. He was eager to depart, he told me, as our destination was still a lengthy journey away.
As the stagecoach bumped along bare, dusty tracks, I was struck by the endless wilderness that stretched out around me. I had no idea that any place could be wilder that the country I had seen.

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October 18, 2018 Add Comment

Sheriff Donner

by Joe Stanley

He pushed away from the desk, unable to eat another bite. It was a late dinner, and when he ordered from the drive-through, his eyes had been bigger than his stomach. Patting the large fleshy dome of his belly, he wondered how that could possibly be true. He felt slow and heavy… and tired.

It was darker than it should have been. Clouds had rolled across the sky like a floating sea of concrete. They ground out the early stars and crushed the sunset like a slow tide. It felt much later than it was, as though the town was plunged into midnight.

Now the rain began, coming down in enormous drops that streaked past the streetlights. Their slow pace was a soothing drumbeat, a lullaby that teased his eyes closed. Through the lids, he saw the first flash of lightning. As thunder rumbled, he forced himself to sit up and stay awake.

Rising slowly, he went through the motions of brewing coffee, knowing that he was too full to drink much of it. Another bolt lit the gloom and the rain came in sheets as if signaled to begin an assault. He was glad he was inside, warm and dry. This was definitely not a night to be out.

He opened the new Guns and Ammo magazine, restlessly flipping through the pages. His eyes couldn’t focus, and his mind was busy resisting the urge to take a quick nap on the small couch. The thunder boomed and roared, but another sound exploded through the storm.

It wasn’t as loud or as deep as the bellows from the sky, but it was mighty all the same. It was a hollow, scraping growl which rang up to the clouds and back down again. He had never heard anything like it before and he hurried to the windows. Scanning what he could see of the town, he expected to find a building in flames or an overturned car.

But he saw no more than blurry streetlamps and the softer smudge of golden light leaking from the windows of houses. Grabbing the radio, he began to call.

“Calling Unit 14, Unit 14 come in. Over.”
A hissing static, rising to a sharp squelch was the only reply. He adjusted a dial, determined to have a word with whoever had been fiddling with the equipment.

Repeating his call, he was again met by nothing but faint inference. Luke, the only deputy on duty, was probably in the diner on main street. True, it was a good place to keep an eye on downtown, but it was also a good spot to keep an eye on Louise, who worked the register.

“Dammit.” he almost muttered into the handset before he got control of himself. He really couldn’t blame Luke, Louise was a fine girl. And if Luke knew anything, he’d be on the radio. There was nothing to do but wait.

He would wait for exactly seventeen minutes and thirty three seconds.

Then the phone rang.

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August 23, 2018 Add Comment

Uncle Jimmy’s last season

by Joe Stanley

It was a bustling and busy Thanksgiving. The tiny house was even more crowded than most holidays. Blue smoke hung in a visible layer just inches below the ceiling. The noise around the kitchen table was so loud the kids in the living room could barely hear the TV. But they were wise, in that sneaky way that children can be. They were watching the picture but listening to the grown-ups speak.

It was a good way to gather gossip or maybe catch a dirty joke. And uncle Jimmy had shown up, which usually meant they’d get a whole bunch. It was kind of rare to see Jimmy and he seemed a little off. Normally, he was quite loud, but now he was quiet and seemed lost inside himself.

“You get a deer this year?” someone asked, not to anyone in particular, but to the men collectively as all were avid hunters, especially Jimmy. The replies worked their way around the room, and one voice was conspicuously silent.
“What about you, Jimmy?”
“Almost.” he said, and this was whispered but now filled the room with a nearly shocked silence of its own. Of all the men, only Jimmy had never failed to return from the forests with a deer.

If anyone had said anything, the subject would have changed and that would have been the end of it. But the quiet was so odd and out of place that no one spoke. Perhaps it was the quiet that made Jimmy go on.

“I spotted a good one, one of the biggest I ever saw. I won’t say it was a record-setter but it wouldn’t surprise me if it was. I had been walking to my blind when I saw him and knew I’d have to take an offhand shot. He saw me, too, and took off just as I pulled the trigger. I winged him.”

Everyone stayed quiet, not so much for the story but for the strange lack of energy in his voice and the odd expression he wore. He had a dreamy stare like he was trying to watch something on the moon.

“I tracked him for about a mile or so. I was so caught up in it that I wasn’t even watching where we were going. It was a lot of blood, easy to track, so much blood that I started to wonder why I hadn’t come up on him yet. Then I looked up and saw where I was, just outside Tinker’s Hollow.”
“No you wasn’t.” came a squeaky, smart-ass voice from the living room.
“Shut up Wayne!” a chorus of voices thundered in reply.
“I was scared.” Jimmy went on, “I wanted to stop right there and turn around. But it wouldn’t be right to leave that critter out there, and I couldn’t even say what I was afraid of, so I carried on. Let me have one of those beers.”

He took a drink, then he chugged about half of it. He sat the bottle down on the table, his expression still distant, still… traumatized.

“It didn’t look special or anything. There were the same old plants, trees, rocks… the same old stuff you’d see just about anywhere around here. I couldn’t see, hear, or smell anything wrong. But my feet got heavy and I crept along and my hands were shaking. I couldn’t help but feel like the hills were closing in behind me. But the blood was getting thinner and I knew, or thought I knew, that the deer had to be just up ahead. Then…”

He winced and almost seemed like he was actually going to burst into tears. He grabbed the bottle and finished it, gasping when it was gone.

“Then, I noticed how quiet it was. There were no birds, no squirrels, no noise at all. It’s not natural for the outdoors to be so silent. And I just kept thinking go a little farther, just a little more, just get the deer.”

He shivered as he said those words and suddenly everyone, even Wayne, knew he was thinking something else, something he wasn’t saying. And they knew he was telling this story because he had to tell it to someone, or at least that he had to say it aloud.

“Things happened really quick but somehow everything seemed to be happening in slow motion, like a movie picture… First, I saw the house.

“It sits up on a ledge above the valley floor. It’s made of stone, but covered with ivy. If you weren’t paying attention, you might think it was just part of the hill. It was the windows that gave it away. They still have glass in them, but it’s so warped it looks like ripples frozen in a pond. There was so much dust and darkness that I couldn’t see inside, but I was very much aware that I didn’t want to see inside. I thought,” he laughed a high, shrill, and unpleasant sound, “I thought something was in there, or lived in there, or that’s its lair or nest.

“I wanted to, had to look away, so I turned back to the blood trail. I realized something was wrong, very, very wrong. See, there was blood, but there were no tracks. The ground was mud and moss and a stumbling, dying deer should have just about torn it apart. It sounds crazy, but I thought that something had got that deer and was leaving a trail that was leading me.

“I’m a hunter, dammit!” he said and slammed his fist on the table, making everyone jump, “I’m a hunter and sure as shit someone or something was baiting me into a trap! And it was quiet, so damned quiet, and a thought came to me.

“It’s just peaceful, I thought. It’s the most peaceful place you’ve ever been. And the deer is just ahead. Go a little farther, just a little farther, and you’ll find it. Go a little more and you’ll find your deer… and you’ll find peace. A peace you’ve never known before.

“God help me, I wanted it. I even took a step. And I thought, Good.

“And I knew it wasn’t me thinking anymore. Then I looked up and I saw… No! I didn’t see that! I didn’t see anything! That wasn’t real! It can’t be real! And I couldn’t have seen it, because it couldn’t be real!”

His voice had fallen to a whisper and he was repeating this to himself as if he was trying to convince himself that it was true.

“I ran. I turned and ran and I could hear my heart thumping in my chest. It beat so hard it started hurting. It felt like someone was stabbing me. I thought I was going to die.” Then he added, “I think I’m going to retire from hunting. An old man like me has no business out in the woods.”

“That might be a good idea.” someone said.

After that Thanksgiving, uncle Jimmy never came back around. It was agreed that he had starting going soft in the head or that he had suffered a mild heart attack and had hallucinated something. Some of the men talked about going out there, just to see if the house was where he said, but no one ever did.

Uncle Jimmy lived another seventeen years, dying of liver failure. The autopsy didn’t find anything else wrong with him, with his heart or with his brain.

Two years after Jimmy died, little Wayne, now all grown up, would take a trip out in those woods to do a little bit of preseason poaching.

He would never come back.

-end-

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August 9, 2018 Add Comment